Tired familiarity deadens sight,
A subtle blindness to uproot,
Until all the vigour of the Sun,
Lines thick same bricks and stones,
With glory dampened over time.

Clawing up the learning curve,
To find a little hope inside the mess,
Of half-way thoughts half-memories,
Of gaps in confidence and skill,
I found a meager cleft within the face,
To take a moment of reprieve and lace,
My breath with a slightest hint of awe,
Of where I've dragged myself to be,
Hold just wait - it isn't yet complete,
Until I acknowledge He -
He who set me up to climb,
Who knows what being me is like,
Far deeper than I know myself,
To Him be the glory for the things I make,
For all the genius and lack there of,
For all these fields and cliffs I find.

Clipping nails,
And they ping like rubber into the bin...
Mostly.

Trimming my finger shields,
To help in dextrous finger flipping,
Furious finger picking, flicking, pinching and prodding.

They're rounded with a rugged, artsy edge,
Mostly rounded I must say,
To place myself in linguistic safety.

Finally fit for the cause, that I pledge,
Ready for more finger adventures tomorrow...
Poem tapping included: batteries not so much.